Summer and Secrets
by alifestylechoice
Summary: In her mind, there's only a dark eye and a perfect mouth.  Kakasaku, Kakashi x Sakura, GenSaku, Genma x Sakura, KakaGen, Kakashi x Genma.  Yeap.


**Title:** Summer and Secrets  
**Author:** alifestylechoice  
**Fandom:** Naruto (Kakashi/Sakura, Genma/Sakura, Genma/Kakashi, hooo boyyy)  
**Rating:** Hard R (Porn.)  
**Words:** 5,608  
**Summary: **In her mind, there's only a dark eye and a perfect mouth.

_A/N: It's sexytimez, everybody! :D_

_Submitted for the Blindfolded Challenge on the kakasaku LiveJournal Community. There are eighteen glorious entries, so if you love this pairing as much as I do, please please head over to the community and cast your vote! Voting will stay open til the 16th of March._

_My assigned kink to write about is __**oral fixation**__, and I don't know if that's...squicky to anyone, but if it isn't, please enjoy!_

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* * *

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**Summer and Secrets**

She catches him smoking cigarettes with Asuma behind a tree, outside the perimeter of the training grounds.

Sakura hides behind a bush, her brow furrowing at the sight-she is fifteen, so the dangers of battle and war have proven to far outweigh the dangers of smoking. About twenty paces away, she can smell the smoke. They are giggling like academy children, doubled over, coughing with carefree smiles.

_Smiles. _

She blinks her eyes, and then closes them immediately, their laughter and hushed conversation ringing in her ears as her eyes adjust to the mystery of the previous years revealed to her so suddenly-it feels like she is cheating. It's a slap to her senses, seeing him, seeing _everything_.

Her lips press together, and she opens her eyes again, pupils practically vibrating over jawline, stubble, and slightly crooked nose, out in the open-mask in a navy pool around his chin like this was no big deal, no big deal at all.

She is almost angry. It's like when she has sexual dreams of being with the Rock Lee-something not asked for and forced upon her against all her wills that are caged in what should be the comfort of sleep. She makes a face at the thought, shaking off the feeling. She looks at his damn face, which just happens to be a fine face-no moles, hairy or not, no scars or the like. Perfectly average, in fact.

She can't understand why, but after the initial shock of it all, she can't seem to stop looking at his mouth.

He brings a cigarette to his mouth, and she is captivated by the way it rolls between his lips. His top lip is slightly larger than his bottom, and it moves to talk while keeping the paper steady in his mouth. When he inhales, she can see the outline of his adam's apple shifting, the way his cheeks suck into his face slightly, jawbone pushing against taut skin covered in not-three-days-shaved hair. His lips close around the filter, and she sees his eye close, like it's the relief he seeks. His hand comes up, two fingers cushioning either side of the cigarette, and a quick kiss of lips to fingers and it pulls the cigarette away, the smoke that streams from the cherry and his exhale combining to their haze of an almost schoolboyish moment.

His lips pull back to reveal a smile that nearly stops her heart.

His tongue darts out to slide across the surface of each lip, first the top; she imagines its texture is rough but slick. In one motion, the bottom part of his tongue is gliding over his bottom lip, and it glistens with saliva, making his lips appear more pink and full than before. She can't be too sure, though-she has only seen his lips for the first time a mere two minutes ago.

Her cheeks are hot, and her heart rate is out of her control, a hammer against her ribs that she is sure he can hear. His tongue disappears from her view and her breath catches in her throat.

In a moment that knocks the wind out of her, he brings the cigarette to his lips again and his eye shifts, lands right on her. She knows he sees her, because if his eye could burn through the leaves of this bush (could it?) he would find her as she is now, crouched down low, breath practically in pants, her own tongue running over the rim of her bottom lip for far longer than she realizes.

Something sparks inside her, and she can't quite put her finger on it, but she would very much like to trace her fingers against the surfaces of his lips, the corners of his mouth. The feeling is heavy, scary, and adult, and she tears her eyes away, grabbing her practice kunai off the grass before darting away silently. She still hears their laughter in her ears, and when she concentrates very hard, she can see the tip of his tongue as he opens his mouth to inhale.

* * *

She is eighteen years old and drunk for the first time, slug arm-in-arm with Ino and (reluctantly) Shikamaru. Everything is funny and weightless, and there is no war to speak of. She holds a thought in the very back of her mind that she should be grateful that she's made it to eighteen in the first place. However, the thoughts in her head are washed out by the cool, dark liquid that has splashed across her tongue too many times this night, and her smile is as warm as her belly.

"Happy birthday, Sakura!" someone calls to her. For a moment, she thinks it could be Ten Ten. Or, maybe it is Gaara. She's having problems seeing.

"Thank you!" she responds, a little too loudly, but she is always polite, if anything.

It is a feeling like no other, to be limitless and surrounded by the people she loved, and she is drunk on its subtle power.

However, after drinking multiple shots of...whatever it is...nature calls at one point or another. She excuses herself-always polite-and trips along the stray chairs and tables to the back of the pub to the restrooms.

Her first reach for the door handle is off by at least a foot, and she grasps the air, pulling back at nothing, and she falls back, laughing, into the arms of Shiranui Genma.

"Whoa, hey there, birthday girl," he chuckles, the grip on her shoulders firm but warm. He is so, so warm.

She is laughing more than she remembers in years. "Who moved the door-?" she starts to sputter when her eyes shift and land on his senbon, hanging lazily from the side of his grinning lips. Even in her drunken haze, she could make out his tongue, cradling its metal point.

She grabs it and he almost drops her as she holds it steady in front of her eyes. "Why do you have this all the time?" she asks.

He is still holding her to pevent her from falling, and his chest against her back is like honey. "Why do you think?" he retorts. She hears his breath hitch when she takes one end and runs it over her lips. It's not as cold as she thought it would be-it was, after all in his mouth-and her eyes look up at him, daring him. Her lashes flicker and she sees a drop of sweat that hovers along his browline as she allows her tongue push through her lips to run along the senbon's edge, slowly, from one end to the other. She won't look away from him-he dares not look away from her.

She sees him swallow, and he rights her up. His eyes darken into that adult place, but this time, with a little help, she's more than ready to face it.

She doesn't say anything-her eyes and the way her tongue flicks against the corner of her mouth is all the invitation necessary, and they stumble into the men's room together, a flurry of tongues and heat, mouths crashing into each other, and her skirt is pushed up over her hips before she hears the door click closed.

He has her pinned against the stall with his lips sucking the skin on her shoulder and neck. He presses skilled fingers against the inside of her thighs and she makes a small noise as she tries to kiss him, tries to kiss his browbone and taste something, anything, but he keeps her still with his tongue sweeping against her collarbone and his fingers pressing against the front of her panties. Her tongue twists in her mouth, grazing the back of her bottom teeth as he yanks her panties aside, the pinching of the fabric against her hip a feeling of familiar nostalgia.

The alcohol and lust assist her bravery and she grabs the hair at the nape of his neck and pulls him to her, crushing her lips against his. He tastes of metal, of smoke, and of her. She opens her mouth for a quick breath of air before plunging her tongue into his mouth, finding equal resistance and fervor. She could almost taste him. She could almost taste-

He enters her and her head lulls back. She sucks in the air as she feels him fill her, stretching her, and she spreads her legs wider to accomodate him, her eyes shut tight at the exquisite feeling. He sighs heavily and his mouth is on her neck, her shoulder, and her breasts. It is too much, and not enough; he pounds into her with enough force to leave her breathless. She squeezes her vaginal walls around him and winces as he bites into the junction of her shoulder and neck.

She discovers the gossip is true as he detaches his mouth and moves effortlessly to her ear, lips and tongue tracing the shell and lobe as he tells her how good she feels around his cock, how her pussy is so young and tight, how he's going to fuck her until she's screaming for him to come inside of her. What is usually silly romance novel nonsense is sparking something inside her that sets her face and body on fire.

She feels the rough fingers of one hand dig into her thigh, pulling her small frame into him with every thrust. The other is around her neck to hold her in place, thumb under her chin and the rest at the base of her neck. She can't turn away from him, can't do anything, and it is agony.

A small movement, just barely out of her view, shakes her from her torture. She focuses through the haze of sex and alcohol, through the dusty overhead window that probably hasn't been cleaned in this place in years, and sees a familiar eye. Just one. It holds her gaze, and she smells cigarettes in the air, faintly.

He is watching her, and his mask is down, and even though the dirt is caked onto the window, she can still see his perfect mouth.

She knows what's wrong and right, and she knows what's taboo. She knows of honor, but she's fucking a man almost twice her age in a bathroom stall on her eighteenth birthday, so she lets her tongue slide out of her mouth slowly, breath coming out in pleasure-soaked weezes. Kakashi has a look in his eyes she's never quite seen before, a look that any normal person would mistake for passive amusement. His lips are slightly open, and his breathing is slightly irregular. He doesn't blink when she pulls her shirt open to reveal a cherry red bra to match her mangled panties. He doesn't move when she pulls the cup down and cradles one breast in her hand, flicking the nipple with her thumb and sending shockwaves of pleasure straight between her legs.

However, when she opens her mouth, and her tongue peeks out at the corner, tasting perspiration, the remains of lipgloss, and metal, she watches with fierce attention as he swallows and licks his lips.

Genma is telling her that he's coming, she's so hot, and he's coming, and Kakashi is there, in front of her, watching her with her legs spread open, and he wants her just as bad. She is hungry for a taste of the man who watches her with rapt attention as she moistens a finger with her tongue and pushes it between her lips. She closes her eyes and only sees Kakashi's face-the force of its entirety revealed to her now with purpose is enough to send her over he edge, calling out Genma's name like he had said she would, but in her mind there's only a dark eye and a perfect mouth.

When she opens her eyes again, he's gone, and before her heart can turn, she asks Genma if he lives close by.

"I do," he says, lips against her ear.

* * *

The next morning, she wakes sometime in the afternoon as judging by the sun's position in the sky that she spots through an unfamiliar window. She's naked, and her head is fuzzy in a different way now.

"Son of a bitch-" she begins, and turns to the other side to find it empty. This situation has happened before, with other men, but she is usually the one gone before they woke. She won't do it again-it feels lonely and strange in his empty room.

However, she had woken up because she had heard voices, and she struggles to sit up and throw a t-shirt on. Maybe Genma had a cat. She had heard that many pet owners talked to their pets like humans-

"-and how the hell did you know I was fucking her?"

Sakura stops in her tracks in the hallway to the kitchen. She swallows and stays very, very still. She is positive he isn't talking to a cat. In fact, she is positive she knows exactly who he is talking to.

"That doesn't matter." Kakashi's voice seals her questions and she forgets to breathe. Her eyes are open wide, searching, her flight reflex screaming so hard in her brain that her muscles tremble slightly. She remains frozen.

"You have to make sure she doesn't get attached," Kakashi continues. "You have a way of doing that, you know."

"She won't," Genma says. She hears a gentle "click-click" of the senbon against his teeth as he rolls it to the other side of his mouth. "She's probably gone by now. I left a couple of asprin on the table and the window's wide open. So far gone, she probably doesn't remember shit anyway."

Kakashi chuckles uncharistaristically and her eyesbrows furrow. A drop of sweat forms by her ear, and it itches but she doesn't. Move.

"Doubt it. Your'e a hard one to forget."

Genma smirks, but his eyes are still rough. "What was I supposed to do? She wanted it."

"She was drunk, Genma," Kakashi says.

"So was I! I'd go so far as to say just about everybody's been drunk since the war, for one reason or the other. Except for you, of course."

"Is that a problem?" Kakashi asks, with an air of I-don't-give-a-fuck.

"Not a problem," Genma quickly throws back. "Just predictable."

Kakashi shifts his weight against the counter where he leans casually, although the air between them is simmering-she can feel it through the hallway. She summons all the chakra that courses through her body to mask her presence and she crawls on all fours to the edge of the hallway. Her back is against the wall before she lets out a breath, slowly.

"Predictable?" he says.

"Yeah. Predictable," Genma repeats. It's a challenge that hangs in the air with a familiar flavor. Sakura peers around the corner and sees the two men standing in the kitchen with cups of coffee-it is a perfectly normal situation with the exception that Genma was start naked, facing away from her. She supposes it is his own kitchen.

She watches Kakashi take a step forward, hand still gripping the counters edge. This is three times now she's seen him with his mask off-it's starting to become quite the luxury. She notes with curiosity that his eye is dark and dominant, like the night before, when he stared at her through the dirty window of the bathroom.

"You're Hatake Kakashi. Little goody-two-shoes since some wackos made you jounin." He takes a step forward, senbon sliding from one side of his mouth to the other. "Un-fucking-touchable."

Kakashi closes the gap between them. Sakura's heart almost leaps in her throat as she watches his leg slide between Genma's, sliding course fabric over sensitive flesh. Genma barely shows his interest, but she can see the tendons in the backs of his knees trembling.

"I wouldn't go that far," Kakashi says, before gingerly gripping his two fingers around the edge of the senbon and placing it on counter. Genma's hand reaches up to close around Kakashi's forearm and he pulls him close. Kakashi has his mouth on Genma's throat, and they both make a soft, strangled sort of noise, like a release.

Sakura's eyes go wide-she's not surprised, but taken aback by the intimacy of the moment. In fact, she does not regret going down the hallway one bit. Their moans and sighs echo in the kitchen and in her ears, and the wet sounds of mouths against skin is enough for her to push a hand between her legs and press down in a futile effort to quiet the fire that ignited there. She bites her lip, which only serves to help the imagery. Her spine shivers and she is thankful her back is against the wall.

"She's-she's upstairs," she hears Genma spit out.

"Then, you'd best be quiet, yeah?" Kakashi responds. He is relatively silent in comparison-well, just about anybody compared to Genma is. But, Sakura can still hear the sound of his mouth against Genma's shoulder, maybe across a nipple, maybe over the ridges of his stomach-

"F-f-fuck, Kakashi-" Genma wheezes, barely above a whisper, and by the sound of it, she knows where Kakashi's mouth is now, and that she wanted, needed to look.

Slowly she perches on the tips of her fingers and the balls of her feet, and pivots towards the entrance to the kitchen. Her head tilts slightly, desperate for a glimpse.

She sees Genma first, almost above her, towering, but his back is to her and he is drowning in monumental pleasure. Of course, Kakashi is the only one to get Genma to shut the hell up, Sakura muses; she supposes that over the years of war and battle and lonely nights spent in god-knows-what country in X or Y forest, you've said all you really had to say to one another and you start to listen a little better.

Genma's arm braces against the counter, the grip on the corner so fierce he's visibly shaking. The other is thrown over his face, forearm to his forehead. His chest heaves up and down erratically, and small noises escape his mouth every now and again on the exhale, little whines and sighs, quite the opposite of the barrage of dirty talk that tumbled from his lips the night before to grip hold of her lust.

She swallows before resting her eyes on Kakashi, head between Genma's legs, one hand gripping the counter's edge and the other firmly around the back of Genma's thigh. He is perched on one knee and there is something incredibly dominant about his stance in spite of the position he is in. His fingers flex against Genma's ass and Sakura drinks him in, the way his cheeks sink into his face when he sucks on the sensitive head, the wet sounds of saliva and swallowing that come from the back of his throat, and the outline of Genma's cock against the thin skin of Kakashi's cheek.

As expected his face is calm and focused, and his gaze falls directly to her, still mostly concealed by the hallway, but who is anyone to try to sneak up on the Copy-nin? Kakashi's eyes are half-lidded with pleasure, and she knows, she knows that pleasure and her tongue darts out in response. Her hand is stilll trapped between her thighs and she reaches into her panties and find her clitoris with the tip of her index finger. She doesn't look away-Kakashi doesn't either, even as Genma reaches down to take off his hitae-ate, and grips a chunk of silver hair between his fingers.

She draws circles around her clitoris, crouching steadily in the corner of the entranceway, and Kakashi watches, increasing his pace and reaching into his pants to stroke himself. When he pulls his cock out of his pants and takes a firm grip around the base, he makes a noise between a choke and a swallow that almost sends her over the edge. His hand is fast at work around his length, and his head dips lower and lower, but never keeps her out of his view for long.

Genma is close-he is gasping for breath and has Kakashi's head in a fierce grip. Sakura gives Kakashi a look he's sure to remember, and she removes her hand from between her legs.

The moment her finger slides between her lips, tongue swirling around the pad of her finger to taste herself, Kakashi is coming, gutteral noises around Genma's cock, and Genma smashes Kakashi's face into his hips.

"Fuck-fuck-" Genma chokes, and he's doubled over, both hands at the back of Kakashi's head.

Kakashi's eyes close momentarily as his nose is pressed into Genma's belly. Genma jerks twice, three times, and Kakashi can't swallow it all and semen drips from the corner of his mouth as he feels the last pulse of Genma's cock in the back of his throat.

She is long gone when Genma releases his bruising grip and he opens his eyes again, the hallway entrance empty. The aspirin and water are left on the table and she's gone out the open window, like Genma has predicted all along.

* * *

Sakura has gotten everything she's really wanted since she was twelve. Sometimes, what she wants isn't always what is best, and she's accepted the consequences of her broken heart. However, she has never been quiet about her desires; bowling over her parents hesitance to allow her to attend the academy and blindly following the last remaining Uchiha were just the beginning of her declarations.

She has been prepared for rejection or disappointment, but when her desires are reciprocated, the end result is usually better than she anticipates.

The following week is excruciatingly hot, the summers of Konoha living up to their reputation creating heavy, suffocating air around them. It makes training all the more unbearable when just a turn of the head can make anyone sweat.

During a particularly difficult spar with Sai and Naruto, she stops to take a break. Kakashi sits under a tree, book in hand, the leaves and branches almost fully concealing the parts of his face his mask did not.

But, what is a few leaves, if not another dirty window? Sakura thinks. She kneels down, knees slightly apart and legs splayed out behind her. She grabs the canteen from the side of her hip and screws off the cap, eyes flickering over to Kakashi a mere twenty yards away.

He turns a page.

Sakura dips her head back and drinks deep, cool water rushing over her tongue and down her throat. Some escapes and trickles down the side of her face, down her neck, down her chest. She releases her lips from the side of the rim with a sigh of refreshment, her lips wet for not too long, as the summer sun sucks the moisture away fairly quickly. Still, she uses her tongue to gather a few droplets that still linger there. She doesn't hear pages turning anymore.

She knows that he is clear of her intent, and she is doing a damn good job, if she did say so herself.

She smiles to herself when, after practice, he asks her to stay late, and she is waving good-bye to Naruto and Sai, who are far away before she is kissing Kakashi with her back in the grass. She notes that they are concealed by a considerable genjustu that most likely took him time to plan, to which she smirks inwardly, hand running over his exposed jawline. They are both patient people, and a week of carefully placed touches and looks has their blood boiling and their tongues bit at the tip.

Their hands are still, hers grasped around his shoulders, his braced on either side of her head. Her neck strains upward to access his mouth; the moment his tongue slides into her mouth and she begins to suck, she feels his hardness against her inner thigh. Her body trembles with pleasure and it has only begun with a kiss. His flavor is something sinful and authentic-her core pulses with the need to taste him. He pauses to draw breath, and she gasps for air as he cradles her cheek in one hand and runs his tongue along the side of her mouth.

She moans and is silenced with another kiss, his tongue scraping along her teeth and she tastes genuine ecstasy. Her back is arched off the ground and she begins to wriggle an arm down to push her skirt up, pull her panties aside when his hand pins hers to the ground.

He comes up for air and he's almost giddy in his expression. Something feral, if she looks hard enough, and she does. He is drunk on her taste.

He asks for her trust with a squeeze of her hand, and she nods, grasping his hand firmly as he kneels beside her. It is so, so hot, and his tongue feels almost cool as he pulls her shirt up to expose her chest bindings, and he begins to unwrap her like a gift he's waited an eternity to uncover. His tongue sucks along her neck, her collarbone, and her shoulders, and finally to one exposed breast. She gasps for breath, but it's hard to breathe, and she takes the hand she's holding and sucks one of his digits into her mouth. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. The taste of salt, shochu, and violence are strong, and she sucks the tip of another finger, running her tongue across the rough pad and the wrinkles of each knuckle. Kakashi pauses against her breast and lets out a short breath, almost a cough. His hand that she tastes is shaking and the other unfastens and pulls down her skirt in one motion, tossing it over her head and into the grass.

She whimpers slightly as he removes his fingers from her mouth-she looks down and realizes he's hard, can see his erection pushing against the crotch of his pants, and his eyes are closed as if concentrating. The slight quiver of the muscles of his jaw indicate his arousal and she feels a power like nothing she's felt before. His mask is down, and his hitae-ate has been tossed aside, and although she's nothing but a shirt and a pair of panties, he appears naked compared to her. The tomoe of his sharingan spins slowly as he leans over her and slides his fingers between her mound and panties, ghosting over soft hairs before finding her clitoris. Her hips buck slightly; she needs to taste more of him. Through the thick air of the heat and her arousal, his fingers dipping into her to the knuckles, she reaches out with her hand and twists her body, pulling down the zipper of his pants. He grunts and his ministrations stop for only a moment before he presses up into her spot with his fingers, spreading her outer lips with his other hand and massaging her clitoris. She cries out; the pleasure is spot on, but she needs this just as much. Her hands tremble as they grip his cock in her hands. She licks the palm of a hand and begins to stroke him, rough part of her thumb grazing the sensitive part of the head with every tug.

"Ah-ah-." He is shaking with lust, licking his lips, and her mouth feels dry. They both want the same thing, but they will draw it out because they enjoy the feeling of thirst, and they have already waited so long without a drop.

She spits into her hand again, spreading moisture all over the head and gripping the base of his cock with her other hand. He thrusts slightly into her hands, just as her hips rise from the ground, meeting the movements of his fingers. His cock is heavy and hot, and her grip is firm but slow, enough friction to make him go insane with wanting, but without the satisfaction of speed. They both know their satiation would depend heavily on when the dryness of their mouths are indulged. The thought of his taste makes her burn with desire and she quickens her pace without thinking, because thinking is suddenly difficult when she sees the first bit of moisture leaked from the slit of his cock.

He groans, his pitch mid-tone and desperate but he inhales sharply before taking his hand from her and stopping her from touching him. Sakura reaches for his hand and sucks his fingers clean; the taste of him and her mixing is intoxicating. His eyes are half lidded and appear lazy as usual, but she knows that he's burning up inside, like her.

Before she can process her body, and his, and their taste, Kakashi has her on top of him, arms hooked around her legs and face buried between her labia. He spreads her ass wide with his hands to expose her fully to him, and she is wet, her clitoris a moist pearl in the sun. Her breasts press against his stomach and she is face to face with his cock. She braces her arms on either side of his hips; she can hardly hold steady with the sound and feel of his tongue working between her thighs, teasing her vulva, lingering against her clitoris. He is making little sounds that come from the back of his throat, as he tastes her, like nothing else in the world matters, and she understands this as she took him in her mouth.

She feels his hips jerk upwards but slowly press back into the grass as she begins a rhythm, her lips and tongue working the underside of the head for a few moments before swallowing him whole, pressing her face into his groin. She hears him let out a strangled groan, his breath against her clit pure agony. His taste is striking, defined by nature, emotions, and sex. Like the earth, and saltwater, and repression, and blood. He tasted heavy and rich, and her tongue and lips caressed the shaft of his cock, finding comfort in suction and taste, her slick muscle and the vibrations of her moans against his cock rendering the muscles in his legs taut and rigid.

Each time she comes up for air, he is awarded with her sweet sigh, or a string of whispered curses before she closes her lips around his cock again, using her hands to pump his shaft or to caress the underside of his balls as her lips descended upon him over and over again, the sounds of moisture and her suction bringing him closer. She feels his cock hardening, his balls tightening, and she comes up to breathe. His scent and taste are overpowering, and her mouth is anything but tired-it could taste him all night if he wanted.

As if reading her mind, she is on her back again, her legs spread wide and he hooks his hands into the back of her knees, pushing them into the ground at either side of her body. He enters her in one movement and collapses on top of her, their mouths locking again in a heated kiss. He pistons his hips into her, the feel of his cock stretching her and his hips slamming against her small frame is only slightly less exquisite than the way he sighs into her mouth as she sucks his bottom lip. They taste each other, they taste themselves, the flavor of summer and secrets, and they are coming. She screams into his mouth, one long whine followed by several short whimpers, her legs clutching him tightly around his waist. He follows soon after, burying his face suddenly into her shoulder and sucking the flesh there as he drives into her one last time. She feels his cock twitch inside her and his shoulders quiver before holding himself up is too difficult and he falls beside her on his side, still cradling her face in one hand.

He presses their foreheads together. Their breaths are heavy and labored but they still kiss, not the desperate, hungry kisses of before but small ones, ones that linger understanding and completeness on the tongue. Their breathing evens out and she swallows. Their taste is everywhere, accosting her senses and she absorbs it with the heat of the sunshine.

He smiles; his lips are divine. She decides that seeing his face, in this way, is worth the wait, and she leans into his embrace, her lips against the corner of his mouth.

"Do you want a cigarette?" he says, seemingly out of the blue.

She smirks; she imagines he can feel it against his lips. "No. Those things are terrible for you."

He tilts his head up slightly and reaches into the pocket of his pants which have ended up somewhere behind their heads. He pulls out two, popped the filter into his mouth. His lips curl around it out of habit.

"They're not bad if you just...hold it. Don't smoke it."

There is meaning in his eyes, and she tentatively takes the cigarette from his hand and puts it between her lips.

She understands now-that day when she was fifteen. What she thought was a smoking habit kept secret is actually just a cover for another secret-a fixation. It is a secret they share.

She rolls the filter between her teeth. It felt good.

_-end-_

_Thanks for reading! Please review if you have the time! Also, if you enjoyed this, please cast your vote for me (but not after reading the other entries as well!) in the Blindfolded Challenge at the Kakasaku Livejournal Community! __ (_community-DOT-livejournal-DOT-com-FORWARDSLASH-kakasaku-FORWARDSLASH-672125-DOT-html_) _


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